Things Not Forgotten
by AtomicArtifice
Summary: Humanstuck, post-Apocalyptic AU: Some non-cannon characters. After the economical meltdown, North America is left in ruins, until a mysterious political group know only as the Mechanicals falls into power across the region.A group of nonconformist radicals attempt to reclaim their city, or die trying.A little romance and drama on the side. T for language, violence, some innuendo.
1. Things You Keep in a Box

THE PRESENT~ October 7, 2056

I remember the day he died like nothing else. I remember the heavy mist, the uncomfortable draft, the cold wind that blew through our walls and straight into our bodies. I remember that radio signals were down, so I lit candles and did the best I could to remedy the obvious discomfort surrounding our house. It hit me like a dagger in the chest every hour he didn't come home, each long, deathly silent minute until the worried stutter again rang from Jamie's little lips, "When is daddy coming back?"

A breeze rattled the windows, her frail and sickly three-year-old body shuddering in surprise. She wasn't well, she had never been well. I cursed myself for allowing her out of bed, but the simple possibility of her father returning for but one night had excited her beyond rest. She gazed longingly out the window, her little blue eyes, as old and wise as the wind itself, serving me as mirrors to the past. She had his eyes, and his lips, and his dusty coal-black hair that stubbornly refused to lay flat, that awkward little cowlick, right in the middle of her forehead. Just like him. Little Jamie bared only a slight resemblance to me, and for this I was glad. I would rather she not have inherited my awkwardly unattractive family characteristics.

Another unwelcome shudder of wind announced a knock on the door, interrupting my train of thought. Jamie's face lit up, and she scrambled to her feet, flipping up the corner of the carpet with a skid of her tiny shoe. My first instinct, a flutter of the heart, a flicker of hope, it was him, he was home, everything was going to be fine. But no, it couldn't be him. My heart plummeted again, and I grabbed Jamie's thin shoulder before she bolted to the door. It wasn't him. He never knocked. She kicked and fought for a moment, and gave up, realizing it was useless. I eyed the door nervously, snatching her up into my arms, as she was still abnormally small and light. I may not have been able to pick her up otherwise. I reached in front of me, grasping the rusty silver door knob with one hand, barely keeping hold of Jamie. A violent gust of wind blew the door all the way open, and some leaves blew in towards us.

A familiar figure stood in the doorway. The young man sported a head of fiery red hair that tossed violently in the wind, along with an awkwardly large messenger-bag that seemed to be sliding off his shoulder. His hands, covered with fingerless black gloves, clutched a package. He was relatively short, although he didn't appear so next to me. His dusty brown army jacket was several sizes too large, and hung almost down to his knees. Karkat was well known as the AFD (or Armed Forces Director) around town, despite his slightly controversial reputation and his measly age of twenty-one. He was the youngest AFD in decades, not to mention the smartest, along with one of my family's closest friends. As happy as I usually would have been to see him, his uncharacteristically stoic expression made the knot in my stomach tighten.

His bag began to fall in the wind, but he caught it quickly. I stood still, holding Jamie, not saying a word. There was only a handful of reasons he'd show up uninvited like this. I tried to smile or to say something, but my mouth wouldn't move. I didn't even possess the ability to invite him in from the cold. He shifted the seemingly heavy package in his arms before looking up to meet my eyes.

"Listen," he mumbled, "About Eridan..."

I squeezed Jamie close to me. This wasn't the way it was supposed to end. He couldn't leave me like this. We were young, we were just getting started. We had a daughter. He couldn't just go and get himself killed. I felt a warm tear fall down my cheek.

"Angela," He swallowed uncertainly, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I-I'm so sorry..."

Jamie slipped from my grasp, hopping to the floor. I was too weak to hold her. My face was wet with tears, I couldn't stop myself. He was dead, and he wasn't coming back this time. I opened my mouth to say something, anything at all, but I just stood there gasping for a breath between my tears. I tackled him in a hug, and his package fell, meaningless, on my doorstep. I buried my face in his shoulder, and I felt his hand on my back.

"Ang, sweetie," he called me by my childhood nickname, just like Eridan used to, "He loved you two more than anything. You know he didn't mean to leave you..."

He didn't expect an answer, so I didn't supply one. I merely waited until my tears died down before pulling away to face him. After wiping my eyes, I saw that he was crying too. We stared at each other for a moment before anyone said anything. Jamie stood at my feet, void of understanding, clinging to the hem of my dress. Thank God she didn't ask me what was wrong. **Everything** was wrong. Karkat gripped his slipping shoulder-bag again, crouching down to retrieve the package he had dropped. I recognized the handwriting printed on it's makeshift label as Eridan's unruly scribbles.

"He left this with me, said it was for you and the kid..."

He fumbled the box for a minute, passing it carefully into my shaking outstretched arms. It was heavy, and the contents shifted as if there were multiple objects inside. He shoved his hands in the deep pockets of his army jacket as another strong gust of wind blew past.

"Thank you," I was able to speak clearly now, the tears had mostly stopped, "Thanks for everything you've done for us..."

He nodded his usual curt little nod, turning away from the door, back to the streets. The tails of his long coat swirled in the wind, revealing his right knee, tightly wound in a bandage. I hadn't even noticed. From what I could see, it was wrapped in a thin piece of fabric that was hastily dyed green, most likely to achieve a certain sense of camouflage. I suppose the war was closer than I had felt. I suppose the war could be blamed our hunger, for the injuries of our friends, for the sickness of my child. For the death of my husband.

I heaved the box inside, sliding it onto the center of the rug. Jamie, who I had

promptly forgotten about, coughed despairingly. A reminder I should close the door to prevent the wind from getting in. After doing so, I was once again faced with the package. Distracted in a fit of coughing, the weak little girl could all but watch as I pulled the end of the string that wrapped the package. The paper was old, and full of holes. There were burn marks along one of the sides. My shaking hands carefully unwrapped the surrounding layer of paper, revealing a large, rectangular tin canister, stark grey and undecorated. I pried the lid off with my fingertips, after much struggle, and a small cloud of dust greeted me upon opening. I coughed, glancing down at the several revealed objects.

The largest and most obvious item in the canister was Eridan's old handgun. People called him a showoff, a pretty boy, but with a gun he could show them who's boss. Aside from being scuffed and very, very old, it's turquoise-plated handle and sides gave in an air of having once been very valuable. I picked it up, running my hands along the stone, not nearly as smooth as when he'd owned the gun as a teenager. Back when we first met. I examined it for a date, and found the small, antique symbols with the year of origin etched beside it. As I had always assumed, the weapon was decades old, but there was still something about it that felt like I was holding his soul in my hands. I knew he'd have died sooner if he were drafted, despite his skill with firearms. He tried to stay off the Insurgent Forces as long as possible, for us. Usually married men weren't drafted, but you never know. The Insurgents had been having trouble lately.

I set the handgun down, sifting through the other few items in the tin. There was a pair of leather gloves, an empty wallet, and a few rusty bullet casings. Nothing of true value, nothing that would keep his essence intact for more than a few days. The sweet smell of his touch would fade from the tin's contents by a week or so, and I'd soon hide it away where I could be spared of the memories.

Still kneeling haphazardly on the rug, I capped the tin tightly, my hands trembling. My wedding band caught a mysterious beam of light from an unseen crack in the curtains, and gave one last brilliant twinkle before dying back to it's familiar rusty silver. I worked it off my finger, a harsh tan line greeting my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken it off. I had needed it... as a reminder for myself, a reminder of the good things that were still out there somewhere. Little did I know I'd never put in on again.

My Hope was gone for good.


	2. Things You Are Given

THE PAST~ November 20, 2049

It was another damp, frozen November. The winter had set in early this year, and autumn had fallen away unexpectedly, leaving us little time to enjoy fall's luxuries. Walks outside in the brisk autumn air were no longer wise, and it was uncommon to see anyone walking about in public unless it was absolutely necessary. The dirt road was packed down deep and frozen in a layer of ice, and even the frighteningly unwelcome Mechie-issued lampposts lining the streets flickered and fluttered in and out of power on any given night.

I watched some especially icy snowflakes collect on the window panes, a thick, striped scarf wound several times around my neck. Even in my house, supposedly heated, my breath made small clouds of steam rise up in little puffs. Like a dragon. I rubbed my hands together and pressed them against the window, my fingers white and my nails thoroughly chewed. I watched the seemingly dead street through my fingers, the clouds of exhaust rising from multiple chimneys. A long strand of hair fell over my face, obscuring half of my view, and I hastily tucked it behind my ear again. I should cut it. After all, what were we taught to do with problematic annoyances? Sever them. Cut them right out of our lives. That's what the Mechies had done to our preceding generations, void of solicitude. Was it genocide to them, or just an allegorical haircut?

A wave of feedback rushed through my earpiece with an alarm that I didn't even remember setting. The blue numbers on my antique wristwatch read the time: 10:37. I'd been expecting a message, but most mysterious white noise that rang through my earpiece was just that: useless noise. Nevertheless, I spun the reception dial on the cleverly built device until the feedback faded to Karkat's familiar words.

"-I know it's early, guys, but I honestly don't care. Stop whining and get your sorry asses down here. I need to talk to you all."

A small but satisfactory click concluded the short message. I'd been receiving more frequent summons to his little 'meetings' as of late, though I hadn't yet had the courage to show up at one. I had no real desire to join the rag-tag team of rebels he had been trying to put together over the past few months... Though to be honest, I didn't have much of a choice. I was living on my own, unemployed at the time, and anything seemed better than starving to death or getting evicted. If Karkat and his little underground society of radicals wanted to start a 'revolution', the least I could do was lend a little moral support before they all got shot, captured or executed. I usually wasn't one to keep up on political affairs, but I was already in the loop it seemed, and news from the aptly-named Insurgents always found it's way to me one way or another.

I buttoned my sweater the rest of the way up and rubbed my hands together for warmth. My house wasn't heated... And it wouldn't be my house for much longer unless I could scrounge up tax money. Or I could move in with Karkat's gang, that was always an option. I readjusted my earpiece and lifted the hood of my sweater over my head, hauling the door of my one-room shack open. It looked like I would be going for a winter walk after all.

If there's one place in town to avoid at all costs, that would be Karkat's house. It's pretty inconspicuous as far as location goes, (wedged between the makeshift hardware trading-post and the lame excuse for a church) but you can hear the yelling from blocks away. There's always an argument of some sort going on, mostly because his brother insists that he's too young to move out on his own yet. They hate each other an awful lot, and it's almost painful to watch them fight with each other. So Karkat generally stays away from home. His brother was a minister-in-training at the church before the fights about religion broke out and the Mechie police massacred the regular church-goers and anyone who dared to continue practicing. Kankri can't publically practice in the church anymore, but he still delivers private sermons to any and all who are willing to listen.

But Karkat is, and has always been, ALL about politics. He's always had a problem with the way the Mechies "boss everybody around like they own the place". Well I've got news for Karkat. They DO own the place, and people have tried before and failed to break the system. Unless he has some really great strategies up his sleeve, he's just leading a whole bunch of hopeful idealists straight to their deaths.

His usual hangout spot is the bottom floor of what used to be the inn. There's a lot of buildings, still standing, that don't serve a purpose and haven't been torn down yet. After the last set of inhabitants were evicted, the furnishings stayed put and no one bothered to board up any windows, so the place is entirely free.

I kicked a stone along the empty road, trying to look at least somewhat innocent in case there were any undesirable observers lurking, until it veered in another direction and I was forced to concentrate on where I was going. A ways down the street I saw the flicker of a lit oil lamp radiating through the snowflakes from the inn's open doors. The midday snow was thickening, and I could feel snowflakes melting in my hair. I approached the open doorway, and I could hear snippets of Karkat's scratchy voice, mid-sentence.

"-isn't a game anymore. We have resources, weapons and a plan, and we can take these guys out. But there's one piece missing," he paused, and I leaned against the outside of the doorway, out of sight but close enough to hear.

"We need a spy. Someone on the inside. Someone who can slip by undetected, snuggle up real close to those bastards and steal their secrets. Someone who-"

Some unknown force possessed me to wander through the doorway at that particularly intriguing moment.

Karkat stopped speaking at soon as he caught sight of me. The inn's entire base floor was lit with several oil lamps placed on the five or so long wooden tables that lined the room. A variety of young men and women about my age were seated around the tables, along with a few who were standing or had just previously been pacing out of boredom or anxiety. They all looked towards me.

"Uhh..." I mumbled a little in embarrassment, before a particularly smug-looking boy with spiky blond hair and odd, multi-colored glasses crossed his arms and spoke up.

"Who the hell is she?"

Some others looked accusingly and questioningly at Karkat.

"Don't be rude, Sol," whispered the black-haired boy sitting next to the blond one, aggressively elbowing him in the ribs. He turned and winked at me and I could feel myself blushing.

"This is Angela." Karkat waved me over, and I almost tripped over my own feet in surprise. He nodded towards an empty chair next to a particularly morbid-looking girl with long, bushy dark hair and a studded red and black vest. She flashed a surprisingly warm smile in my direction as I took a seat next to her.

The uncomfortable quiet had faded from the room, and a series of half-hearted mumbles rose from the crowd. Karkat sighed and shook his head.

"Guys-"

"I'm being rude?!" The blond boy elbowed his neighbor back, "Grow up and stop flirting with strangers."

"At least I'm polite!" The black-haired one haughtily tilted his head and threw his scarf over his shoulder mockingly.

Karkat rolled his eyes. The girl next to me leaned over, whispering, "Don't worry, they're always like that." I smiled understandingly at her. She laughed, and her hair bounced back and forth.

Karkat threw a fist down on the nearest table, getting everyone's attention. "Sollux, Eridan, shut up. We have work to do."

The girl next to me cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap. Sollux and Eridan glared at each other. Karkat waited for complete silence before continuing.

"As I was saying, one element of our plan is still missing. To put it short and simple, we need a spy."

A few people glanced around the room nervously. No one dared to meet Karkat's harsh gaze, for fear of somehow accidently volunteering. I looked at the girl next to me, who was in turn looking at the girl next to her.

Karkat folded his arms angrily across his chest. "C'mon! Anyone?"

I heard a faint squeak from the back of the room, and it appeared that my neighbor did also, for me both turned around. A little girl stood in the doorway, still sporting an apron and clutching a large broom. I recognized her as Nepeta, the unofficial maid and housekeeper that made an acceptable living cleaning and cooking for anyone that could afford to pay her. Much to Karkat's dismay, she had been receiving free room and board out of pure kindness from Kankri. She was always all over Karkat, acting like she was his personal slave. It seemed to annoy him, but I thought it was sort of cute, the way she looked up to him and his brother.

Nepeta swallowed nervously and smoothed down the hem of her skirt.

"I... I'll do it," she squeaked.

Karkat tilted his head skeptically, perhaps considering how much use he could get out of the little girl that would do literally anything for him. He shrugged.

"Okay," he smiled a little bit, "It looks like we've found our spy."

Nepeta blushed with excitement. I caught a glimpse of Sollux and Eridan exchanging worried glances. No one else seemed awfully enthusiastic with Karkat's choice of a double agent, but no one bothered to question him or his authority. I unbuttoned the top button of my sweater. It was getting sort of warm in here, and the afternoon light had faded to a pitch-black winter night.

"Meeting adjourned," Karkat sighed, "Get out."

The screech of wooden chairs sliding across the floor filled the space and the furniture was cooperatively rearranged in preparation for the night. The girl I had been sitting next to promptly slid her chair back into place and properly introduced herself to me. I was tired, however, and the introduction practically went in one ear and out the other. All I caught was her name, Aradia, and the rest completely flew by me. I must have looked sort of out of it, because she got the idea I wasn't paying attention and left.

Nepeta scrambled out the door, looking extremely pleased with herself, and Karkat followed her before I could stop him to talk. Great.

I watched a couple of girls walk out, laughing. I had seen them before... where, I didn't know, but they looked so familiar that I followed them to the doorway and almost said something as they stepped out into the darkness and falling snow. The blonde boy, Sollux, pushed his slipping glasses up on the bridge of his nose and proceeded to snuff out the rest of the lit oil lamps around the room. He gazed at the last lamp for a moment, lighting up a corner where the black-haired boy he had been quarreling with and another girl stood, talking, but he apparently decided to leave them be. He nodded somewhat apathetically as he passed me, but didn't acknowledge my presence in any other way.

"Eridan, Fef," he threw them a somewhat loathing glance before shoving his hands in the pockets of his pale yellow coat and walking out the door, "Turn out the lamp and close the door on your way out."

The girl, sporting long, red hair and a somewhat ridiculously fluffy pink blouse under her thick blue-and-green sweater waved him away impatiently. I stood in the doorway, unfortunately out of earshot to the apparent argument that she and Eridan were engaged in. I figured I would put out the last lamp as soon as they left, having done nothing else even remotely useful in the last hour or so.

The girl abruptly spun around, a spiteful and angry spring in her step as she thundered right past me and out the door.

"Fef, w-wait..." Eridan stuttered and stumbled uselessly after her, but she broke into a run by the time she was out the door, and he stood next to me in the doorway staring longingly after her. I looked over at the still lit oil lamp, foolishly wondering if I should put it out or not. Eridan sighed, folding his arms contemptuously across his chest. I glanced at him, but his eyes were fixed out the open door at the falling snow. I might as well have not been standing there at all.

"What's up with her?" the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could think. He turned his head and looked at me quizzically, like he hadn't been sure I could actually speak until now. His eyes were brilliantly violet, though his slightly skeptical stare scared me a bit. His smooth, wavy black hair was parted asymmetrically, with a sassy stripe dyed purple across his forehead. He uncrossed his arms and stood up a little straighter, so he was a few inches taller than me.

"Nothin', I hope," he smirked, recovering smoothly from his recent confusion. "She's just a little moody today. No big deal."

I nodded like I knew what he was talking about, which of course I didn't. I looked at the lamp again. I should probably put it out.

"So," he nodded his head towards the door, taking a few steps outside, "Who were you again?"

I glanced back inside before following him hesitantly into the snow. It wasn't late, probably about eight or nine o'clock, but it was midwinter and the days were getting shorter and darker by the minute. And seeing as no one dared take a step out of the safety of their houses after dark, I was nervous. I opened my mouth to say something, but only managed to utter my name.

"I'm Angela." I buttoned the top button of my sweater again. It was thoroughly freezing.

He smiled, tugging anxiously on the hem of his jacket, and took another step closer to me. I couldn't help but watch a few snowflakes melt on his eyelashes. He blinked and I snapped out of my momentary trance.

"It seems a little late for you to be walking home on your own," he shrugged, "What with all the cops sniffing around..." His sentence trailed off to doubtful murmurs, and he crushed some new-fallen snow under his shoe. He glanced up at me, anxious for a response.

I opened my mouth, but didn't say anything. I looked over my shoulder nervously. He was right, it probably wasn't safe for me to be wandering around by myself at night... But I didn't necessarily feel any safer with this particularly amorous stranger as my escort.

"Sure," I replied, again failing to think before I spoke. He smiled a devious half-smile and a shiver ran up my spine. I pivoted towards the direction of my house, and he followed, trotting up beside me as I walked. I noticed his gaze settling on my chest and I felt strangely self-conscious. I coughed to raise his attention back to my face.

He continued making small talk. "So what's a nice girl like you doing with a guy like Karkat?" He laughed a little bit, "Surely you have something better to do with your time."

He raised his eyebrows suggestively. I laughed out loud.

"No," I shook my head, "Karkat and I... we're just friends!"

"C'mon," he teased, "No man could be 'just friends' with a girl like you."

My smile quickly faded to a frown. I was physically incapable of flirting, but I was keen enough to know when someone was toying with me. He caught my drift and stopped talking. The snow was falling thicker and heavier, and the streets were completely covered. We walked for almost a block in complete silence, me sort of leading the way and him doing his best to keep up. I suppose I was walking pretty fast, but it was freezing out and I didn't seem to be enjoying the snow as much as he was. I guess I was shivering too, but I didn't realize it.

As we approached the steps of my house, Eridan placed his hand gently on my shoulder. I felt my face growing warmer though the rest of me was almost numb. I turned my head to answer his question.

"It's going to be a cold night," he admitted, unwrapping the long, blue striped scarf from his neck and placing it gently around mine, in addition to the fluffy black one I was already wearing. "Stay warm."

He looked really cold and somewhat incomplete without the scarf wrapped around his neck... I almost felt bad for accepting it, since I had been such horrible company and he had been kind enough to walk me home, but it seemed like it would be insensitive to deny his offer. I smiled, and walked up to the familiar door of my home. Eridan turned around and stared into the distance for a moment, looking almost lost. He heaved a sigh and began to walk away without a goodbye, like perhaps another attempt at sparking a friendship had been unsuccessful. Like perhaps he had nowhere to go on this cold winter night, no place he could call home and no house (well-heated or otherwise) to shelter him from the harsh weather. I didn't know for sure if he did.

I pulled the door of my flat open, and it slammed closed behind me with an insensitive crack. I trudged over to the cot I used as a bed, and collapsed on it without undressing. I rolled over, not bothering to light the lamp that stood on my all-purpose table. It still couldn't have been that late... Nine, maybe ten o'clock at night. But I was beyond tired. My earpiece buzzed mundanely for a bit before receding into complete silence. I tugged my thick jacket farther around my shoulders, watching the thick snowflakes collect outside the window. The streetlamps were useless, having long ago flickered completely out, and the moonlight was the only visible source of luminescence. Another mysterious shiver ran up my spine.

Taxes were due tomorrow. Money that I didn't have, money that I could never find a way to make in time. My imminent eviction was drawing closer, and to be perfectly honest, I had nowhere to go. Karkat kept insisting that I could move in with him... But I hated asking for help, even when I knew I needed it. I had seen the drill plenty of times around town, and I knew what to expect tomorrow. Officials bust down the door, toss you around and tell you to pay up or leave the premises. Unless, of course, you were already gone and they just boarded up your door (or not), and whatever you left behind would soon be scavenged by any street-goers desperate enough to break in. I sighed despairingly to myself.

Maybe I would take Karkat up on his offer. Living with him couldn't be that bad, aside from the constant nagging and yelling from Kankri. I could deal with that. I resolved to call him up tomorrow. Surely I would have it all figured out by then.

I turned over once more, burying my face in the scarves I was wearing and the collar of my jacket. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders for warmth. My hair was wet from the snow, and drops of melting ice tickled my neck. I was only a nonexistent paycheck away from losing everything. I rubbed my face sleepily against Eridan's scarf and inhaled.

It smelled of smoke, alcohol and sadness.


	3. Things You Lose

I don't remember waking up the next morning. I don't remember getting out of bed, or gathering what little I had to bring with me that day. I was in a sort of a daze as I heard the telltale knock on my door and was presented with my eviction notice. I was in shock, I think, as I gathered what little I could carry in several handbags and was thrown into the foggy streets with no alternate plan of action. I remember standing across the street and watching helplessly as the door of my house was beaten down and tossed aside, the mark of my dispossession.

The cold stung my hands and my face as I began to walk. The ice that had settled on the ground the night before was beginning to melt, and what was left of the autumn grass sparkled and shone. I was wearing the same clothes I had been the previous evening, bulky laced boots, thick grey corduroys, and a long woolen sweater that hung down to my thighs. I hadn't allowed myself the luxury of a haircut in a few years... It hung sideways across my eyes and tangled itself in the top few buttons of my sweater. It was blonde, when clean, but it appeared more dark brown as of late. I clumsily rolled up the sleeves of my sweater and exhaled.

I glanced sadly back at my house, which I would most likely never set foot in again, and took a brief moment to consider my options. I had several friends that might be able to give me some assistance, I thought, as I wandered aimlessly towards the center of town. I passed the esteemed Peixes household, a once magnificent victorian homestead that now served as a cluttered hostel. I could no longer tell what color the paint finish had been on the house, and ivy tangled itself enviously between the peeling roof tiles. It cost a ridiculous amount of money to stay there. The Peixes sisters ran the place, constantly busy with cooking, cleaning and trying to cheat whatever extra cash they could out of their visitors. The three sisters had taken over when their mother died, leaving them the whole estate, but practically no money to go with it. The oldest and by far the most scandalous, Meenah, insisted on charging a fortune to anyone that begged to stay there. The middle child, Feferi, was (according to rumor) slightly less business-inclined, and more disposed towards several of the handsome young men that were courting her, especially (again, by rumor) Sollux Captor. The youngster, Jac, was my age, and a good friend. She too was more intrigued by men. One in particular, but that story should be saved for another time. I walked right by the Peixes place, a sigh falling from my lips. For many, any permanent home was a luxury, even a rented room in a crumbling, drafty hostel. There was never a single vacancy. I wouldn't find anywhere to stay there.

I turned a few corners and made my way to the busiest (and probably the most dangerous) section of town. Shops, dingy hotels, and a few stand-alone apartment blocks cluttered the streets, and people were just beginning to wake up and set up shop for the day. Wind chimes rang down the street and I heard a few meaningless shouts directed towards me as I walked. A tattered striped flag, lines and blurs of red white and blue, marked the fairly prominent apartment at the end of the block. I swallowed nervously as I approached it. Several house numbers bordered the door, 69696, along with a mounted signature, Vantas. A knocker was fixed in the middle of the dull grey door. I reached out to knock.

I heard footsteps thundering down the stairs on the other side of the closed door, along with a stream of angry shouting.

"You can't make me do anything, I'm eighteen and I can do whatever I damn well please!" Karkat's scratchy voice easily rang all the way through the thin wood walls.

"It's for your own good, Karkat!" Kankri's slightly steadier voice echoed just as easily, "You're being immature, take a minute to calm down and think about what you're saying."

I heard an angry growl from Karkat as I leaned carefully against the door, trying my best to eavesdrop quietly.

Kankri continued, "I don't see what you're making such a fuss about," he pleaded, "She's a nice girl, Karkat, all the Pyropes are. And I've talked to you before about our financial issues..."

"And I've talked to you before about her," Karkat interjected, "I don't care if they're rich! I'm not marrying that awful blind woman! I refuse!" Karkat slammed his fist on the table, or so I assumed by the noise.

"She's not awful, Karkat, I'm sure you could get used to her! It's a surprise that you two have managed to fight off the engagement for so long," I heard Kankri approaching the door, "When I was your age, I didn't have much of a choice with my love life."

I could just imagine Karkat rolling his eyes, disgusted by another of Kankri's "when I was your age" lectures.

"I thought you were a man of God," Karkat argued, "Either way, you were obviously able to swindle your way out of your less than desirable engagement."

The doorknob shifted and I held my breath.

"She wasn't the marrying type. It wouldn't have been a successful match anyway," Kankri sighed, "We have a long history with the Maryams, Karkat. I'm not about to explain it all in a single morning," the doorknob rattled again, "Especially not when you're in this sort of mood-"

The door swung inwards, thankfully, and Kankri took one extra accidental step forwards and was no doubt very surprised to see me standing awkwardly on his doorstep at this time of morning.

"Angela!"

Karkat rushed to the doorway at the sound of my name, and Kankri backed up, no doubt treading on his brother's feet slightly. They hissed annoyedly at each other before turning to face me.

"What do you wan-" Karkat began with his usually harsh greeting, but Kankri shot him a harsh stare that screamed, Remember your manners, Karkat.

"I mean, uh, can I do something for you?" he shouldered his way in front of Kankri, who gladly disappeared into the kitchen. Kankri never really liked me all that much. As a decorated failure-at-everything, I was definitely a bad influence on his little brother.

I glanced half-heartedly down at the three or some handbags I was shouldering. "The notice came this morning..." I mumbled.

He grabbed one of my handbags politely but somewhat aggressively off of my shoulder, leading me inside and talking as he went. "I knew it would sooner or later. I sent Nepeta off just this morning, you can have her room, there's really nothing in there..."

He bolted up the rather small staircase, and I stumbled after him. Kankri was pouring coffee, staring scornfully out the window.

"I really don't want to bother you," I insisted, "I promise I won't be any trouble, and I'll start job-hunting as soon as I get back on my feet again-"

I followed him up the stairs and to the doorway of one of the three or so small rooms that filled the top level of his apartment, until he stopped in front of one and interrupted my long sentence.

"Angela," he shot me an interesting look, "The last thing you are is trouble. You know you can stay with me whenever you need to."

I looked at the ground. There was so much shame attached to homelessness, to unemployment. Accepting help seemed so... avaricious of me.

"Stop it," he bumped my shoulder encouragingly, "I'm your friend. You don't have to feel guilty about this arrangement." He pushed the door open, and I followed him in. "And if Kankri bothers you at all, even a little, I'll kill him."

He tossed my shoulder bag onto the rickety bed-frame in the center of the small room, and I set my other two bags there as well. There was a small window in the corner overlooking the pavillion, and a dusty oil lamp rested on the windowsill. Other than that, the room was completely empty and only slightly bigger than a broom closet. I stood there for a moment and looked around, taking in the pathetic aesthetics of my new home.

"I know it's not much," he sighed, "But at least it's something."

I nodded. "Thank you." I felt a lump in my throat that I tried to swallow, but couldn't. My face grew warm and I blinked until tears came to my eyes. He took a few steps toward me.

"Are you okay, Ang?"

I swallowed again, "Thank you for letting me stay here," I felt a tear run down my cheek, and thought of how terrible I must look. I hadn't had a proper shower in days, or eaten. "I honestly have no where else to go, and it means a lot that you would let me stay with you, with what's going on with your brother and everything..."

I slumped over on the bed, my shoulders shaking with silent tears. Karkat wandered to my side, sitting next to me on the creaky bed-frame. He put an arm around me and I sniffed despairingly.

"Shhh, sweetie," he rocked me back and forth while tears swallowed my words. I was full-on sobbing at this point, and I leaned so far into his side that I was practically laying on his lap. "Ang, it's going to be fine. I'm here."

I leaned my head against his shoulder. I drew a huge breath, tears still falling down my cheeks. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

He hugged me tight. "It's okay, Angela. You're my best friend, and I'm here for you. You got that?"

I nodded, somewhat pathetically, for words failed me at that particular moment. I knew I would beat myself up over this the next day, for being so pathetic, so desperate, so weak- but it was all I could do to accept his help and affection for the time being.

I slumped farther over, until my head was resting on his lap. I was so tired. He reached up and stroked my hair for a little while, and I closed my eyes. It was so warm in here. So warm.

I think I must have fallen asleep.


	4. Things Delivered

I slept all day. I slept straight until noon on the very next day. I woke up to the sound of rain pit-patting on the hard tin roof. The weather had worsened while I was asleep, and the wood lining on the window was leaking, water dripping off the windowsill. Someone had moved my handbags to the corner, and my boots were unlaced and laying on the floor beside the bed. I blinked sleepily until I was fully awake. I listened for commotion downstairs, but there was none. Karkat was no doubt running errands, and Kankri was most likely delivering his usual sermons on the other side of the pavillion. It was Sunday, after all.

The rain continued to pound on the window, rhythmically. I tossed my blanket aside and crawled out of bed, stretching my arms lazily above my head. A few of my stiff joints cracked and my hair fell haphazardly across my shoulders. I really should cut it, it was getting to be quite bothersome. I walked over to the corner of the room, dragging one of my handbags to the center of the room. I pulled out a hand-mirror that was about the size of the palm of my hand. It was smudged, and cracked in the corner, but I gazed back at myself nonetheless.

My skin was white and pasty, with thick grey circles under my eyes. My cheeks were unusually red compared to the rest of my face, and my hair was awful. It parted awkwardly to the left, hanging in horribly tangled waves down onto my shoulders. I blinked at my reflection. I looked so much worse than I had the last time I had the pleasure of looking in a mirror. I placed it on the bed, and wandered slowly downstairs in my socks, sweater and corduroys, hopefully to make myself some coffee or at least get a breath of fresh air.

The sound of the rain rang loud and clear through the walls. Dirty dishes littered the kitchen table downstairs, and laundry that had yet to be folded was piled up on one of the two chairs at the table. A teapot steamed lazily on the lit stove. I shoved a pile of clothing off one of the chairs and dragged it over to the table. A stack of books and papers leaned precariously close to the edge, and I nudged it closer to the middle of the table. The top few books slid off the stack and into a pile of dirty dishes, revealing some roughly drawn sketches underneath. They appeared to be maps of some sort. I pulled them carefully out from under the rest of the books to take a closer look.

On closer examination, the drawings seemed to be plans for some sort of electrical wiring system, or perhaps some sort of machine. Another few pages were typed messily on what appeared to have been an old-fashioned typewriter, and held only a series of repeating numbers and letters that made no sense to my tired eyes. Codes, perhaps, or some sort of important password from the look of it. I blinked and tried to focus my tired eyes on the characters centered at the top of the page.

Struct group_info unit_groups = {USAGE .. = atomic_nblocks(2) }; 52423272524232

My reading was interrupted by a harsh knock on the door. I almost dropped what I was holding, and the stack of books that I had reassembled on the table swayed precariously back and forth. I whispered to the books to stay put, which most likely didn't have much of an effect on them, and jumped to my feet as the knock on the door repeated. I wasn't sure whether I should answer it or not, seeing as it wasn't really my house or my business. But the rain was falling so hard, it seemed cruel to let whoever was knocking to be completely soaked and standing alone in the doorway.

"Um... Come in?" I called, approaching the door to answer it. I pulled the door open clumsily. I had momentarily forgotten that it swung inward, and I found myself huddled awkwardly against the wall to greet the visitor.

A young woman stood in the doorway, thoroughly soaked but with a smile on her face nonetheless. Raindrops bounced off her long, curly hair and onto her rather large, dark green rain jacket. She carried a bundle of clothing under her arm, that she was trying her best to keep dry from the rain. I backed up until my head hit the wall with a startling bump.

She ducked her head under her arm as a stream of water dripped down from the gutter above. I creaked the door a little farther open as an invitation for her to come in. She shook her head to get the water drops off, and looked a little confused by my presence. I stepped back so she could come inside.

"Thank you!" she chirped happily, tossing the bundle of clothing onto the already cluttered table. A glass teetered dangerously close to the edge and I held my breath. The girl stepped carefully into the dining room, breathing hard, as if she had just sprinted a few blocks in the rain to get here. She stood relatively close to the door, as if perhaps she had other errands to complete, but wished to stay long enough to be polite with her introduction.

She was less than a head shorter than me, but no doubt taller than Karkat. Her chestnut-brown hair wound itself in several thick, wavy ringlets about her face, and her cheeks were a rosy red from her constant beaming smile. I noticed the gleam of an engagement ring around her finger, no doubt what she was so happy about. Or perhaps she was just one of those thoroughly optimistic people. I exhaled in a little puff of steam.

"Are you the new housekeeper?" She ventured a guess, no doubt based on my slightly grungy low-class appearance, "I was expecting Nepeta..."

I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, but I probably didn't look any more personable. "No, I'm not a housekeeper..." She looked at me oddly, so I continued my explanation, "I'm just staying here for a while until I find a permanent place to live. I'm friends with Karkat..." I couldn't think of anything more to say, so I shut up. She nodded understandingly.

"I know how it goes," she sighed, thumping down on a kitchen chair as if she suddenly felt welcome, "I lost my house and my family a couple years ago. I wasn't even fifteen," the red drained from her cheeks and her smile quickly faded. I back up nervously until I ran into the wall. I wasn't one for human interaction. It frightened me a little bit.

"I had nowhere to go," she continued, crossing her legs, "And no money. I was a kid, how was I supposed to get a job? Thankfully the Captors took me in," she nodded her head towards the street. "And even after... recent tragedies," she glanced sadly at the carpet, "Sollux is letting me stay with him for the time being. I'm earning money again. It'll all work out in the end, trust me."

The bubbly smile returned to her face. She looked as if all was right with her life again.

I'd heard about the Captors, though I didn't know them personally. Quite a tragic history, their family. When a wave of Tuberculosis had swept the region several years ago, Sollux's father and mother had both been hard hit. They died within a week of each other, so the rumors said, and Sollux (only fourteen years old at the time) was left to care for his young brother, Mituna. He'd been quite a resourceful child, but his brother's coughing fits soon developed into another full-blown case of TB. After a couple long, hard years, Mituna died a few months ago, leaving Sollux alone and penniless at only eighteen. Well, not completely alone I guess. I vaguely wondered if he and this girl were together, but I didn't ask.

I nodded politely at what seemed to be the end of her story and glanced at the clothing she had delivered, a bundle of neatly pressed red sweaters, most certainly for Kankri, as Karkat refused to wear anything that sophisticated. The tag attached read Maryam Couturier, the only (and therefore the best) tailoring service left in town, of which this visitor was most certainly the newfound delivery girl. She hopped up from her seat, suddenly remembering whatever it was she was going to say before I distracted her.

"I know you're not a permanent resident," she asked, pulling a small notebook of recorded sales out of her deep coat pocket, "But could you sign this receipt for me? I'm sure it would do just fine."

She shoved a pen into my hands before I had the time to look for one myself, and I absent-mindedly signed my name on whatever line she pointed to. She gathered up her pen and notebook and shot me another huge beaming smile. "I'm Julianne, by the way. I never caught your name?" She asked, making her way towards the door.

"I'm Angela," I held the door open for her.

"Well, Angela," she nodded in a friendly sort of way, "If you ever need anything, come by. You know where to find me," she raised her eyebrows and smiled mischievously, "And I'm sure Sollux wouldn't mind a little visit from Karkat every once and awhile, if you know what I mean."

"Alright, sure."

I must have looked quite confused, but I nodded nonetheless. Julianne giggled at me before shaking my hand and stepping gleefully out the door and into the rain. I stared after her without closing the door, still not exactly sure what she meant by any of that.


	5. Things You Keep Secret

To be honest, I didn't do much of anything for the rest of that day. Kankri came back around noon and did his best to avoid talking to me, and I did my best to avoid talking to him. The more time I spend around Kankri, the more I understand why Karkat spends half his waking hours complaining about his life. The man drinks more coffee than should be humanly possible, and he's always talking, be it to himself, to God, or to anyone who happens to be standing next to him. He also recites Bible verses occasionally when the tediousness of his life is getting him down. Not that that's bad, it's just a little extreme for my taste.

Karkat came home later, raging about the stupidity of someone or other that I didn't know and didn't have any intention of meeting, but I let him talk to me for a couple hours so he could let off steam. We all came downstairs later that night for a bite to eat, and Kankri insisted on sitting down together for a dinner prayer. Karkat politely declined, but Kankri insisted, and we ended up eating together in an uncomfortable and somewhat irked silence. I tried to ignite small talk, but the two brothers promptly refused to respond to anything I said.

I walked upstairs, mentally kicking myself for spending another twenty-four hours having done nothing useful whatsoever. I desperately needed means of sustaining myself, whether that meant a job, some money, or permanent housing. If I spent another day in this household I would literally go insane or Kankri would convert me completely and I would "bathe in the glory of the Lord for evermore". Neither of which sounded very desirable.

I couldn't sleep that night, not at all. I was too worried about what the next day would hold, be it good or bad, and I could hear the creaks and moans of the old wooden flooring all night long. The only electric lighting supplied by the Mechanicals came in the form of the unreliable streetlights placed on every block, which went out just after midnight (which was supposedly the signal that all citizens should be safely at home for the night). It was uncharacteristically warm that night, so I left the window open. I could see the stars more clearly that way, and the moon looked clearer and brighter without a pane of glass to disrupt its light.

I stared at the ceiling in the dark until a sharp whispering noise made me jump. I glanced nervously towards the door, praying that it was either my imagination or a perfectly explainable creak of the wood. The noise returned, and I pinpointed its origin at the open window. I would have felt safer knowing I was on the second floor, if not for the fire escape that I knew was right outside my window. A small, stifled ringing of the metal confirmed my suspicion of an unwanted visitor hiding out on my fire escape. I quietly sat up in bed.

There was a moment of complete silence in which I briefly considered all the horrible possibilities of the commotion outside my window. I knew, from personal experience, that the occasional murder or kidnapping was not uncommon in this part of town, and I gave myself a friendly reminder to never again leave my window open at night. After a small, internal argument against my own common sense, I tossed the blankets off of my lap and carefully shifted my weight to a standing position. The floor creaked, and I assured myself that if I was going to be murdered, it probably would have happened already.

Having nothing to arm myself with (and wearing very little clothing), I made my way towards the window as quietly as I could, until I could rest my hand on the window pane. I stared out the window, eyes fixed nervously on the building across the street. I could tell there was someone there, no doubt huddled against the building and just out of my sight. No doubt they were looking up at me right now, hoping I wouldn't notice them. I glanced down, expecting either a small homeless child or a pitiless assassin to return my gaze.

Instead, I discovered something entirely inbetween. A young man with slick black hair and a tattered jacket looked up at me innocently, curled up on the cold, iron fire escape. A spark of recognition hit me and my curiosity turned to forthright surprise.

"Eridan?!" I whispered harshly. He shifted slightly on the fire escape and looked just as surprised as I was. He probably didn't expect to come knocking at my window. Of all people...

"Shhh!" he shushed me and glanced nervously towards the street.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, trying not to wake Karkat, who was no doubt asleep in the room next to me.

He didn't answer, merely gazed anxiously and disorientedly into the night.

"...Do you want to come in?" I asked. He swallowed timidly, making a point to breathe quietly. He nodded up at me.

I reached my bare arm out the window, offering him a hand. He reached up and grabbed my hand, pulling himself to his feet. His skin was pale and clammy, and his hand was shaking. He almost lost his balance standing up, but used my arm to steady himself. I helped him inside and closed the window.

He leaned against the wall, relieved, but very tired. His face was more visible now that he was standing in the moonlight. His eyes were bloodshot and smoky, as if he had been up all night crying, and one of them was blue and swollen. A small cut near his forehead was bleeding down the side of his face.

I stood a few meters away, wearing much less clothing than would be considered appropriate for this sort of an encounter. I approached him timidly.

"Are you okay?"

His tired eyes focused on me and he pulled his thin jacket tightly around his shoulders. He stumbled mindlessly towards me and I directed him carefully to a seated position on my bed. His jacket smelled strongly of blood and alcohol, and I put an arm around his shoulders so he wouldn't fall over. I repeated my question and he stared blankly at the floor.

"Eridan, are you alright?"

He turned in my general direction and muttered, "My father..." He shook his head disapprovingly.

Okay, let me set something straight. I'm not usually one to pry into other people's business. I'm also not usually one for inviting near strangers in through the second floor window in my underwear for a good heartfelt chat. But I was having a rather unusual day, and I guess I figured it wouldn't hurt to show a little compassion. I assure you, this never happened again.

"...Did he hurt you?" I reached towards his face, but he turned his head away. "Did your father do this to you?"

He looked up at me again and had to refocus his line of vision.

"H-he and my brother both," he stuttered, "Very... Very bad drunks," he hiccupped, and I suspected he had been drinking a little himself. I noticed some more bruises lining his jaw. He muttered a little under his breath and I had to shush him so the noise wouldn't wake up Karkat.

"He gets so angry," Eridan slurred his speech, sounding more drunk himself by the minute, "So angry w-when he's had too much to drink," his voice trailed off into more murmurs, "And they fought and... And I was only tryin' to stop them from yelling..."

He hiccupped again. His thin jacket looked horribly unsatisfactory for the cold night. I shushed him again, as he began to talk a little louder, and he laid down on my bed and curled into a ball of tears and half-hearted hiccups. He disregarded me entirely, and looked as if he might fall asleep right there if I made no effort to move him. Which wouldn't be so bad, save the endless reprimands I might get from Kankri in the morning. And the fact that I wouldn't have anywhere to sleep myself.

I nudged him. "Eridan?" He whined like a small child. I sighed quietly to myself. "I hope you're not assuming you can stay."

He didn't answer, merely pressed himself closer to my bed.

"Karkat's going to murder you if he finds you here," I said.

"Please don't-" he hiccuped again, "Don't make me go back there..." He looked like he was about to start crying. He looked at me like a puppy that was about to be put down. His eyes were tired and sad and confused and... beaten.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Looking at him reminded me why I had never liked children. It sounds awfully mean when I try to explain, but there's something about the way a child looks at you that leaves you completely powerless. Like you're obligated to help them, to do whatever they say. I mean, what kind of person would say no to a child staring at you like you're their only hope? No one would. They use their helpless little gaze to hypnotize you into doing their bidding. It drove me absolutely crazy.

"...Fine," I whispered, "But I'm kicking you out first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, thank you..." he slurred, reaching unsteadily towards me.

I slapped his hand away, feeling less sympathetic by the minute. "Hey, don't touch me me, or I'll throw you back out the window!"

He nodded confusedly and retreated back to his curled up position. I folded a blanket over him, and I could almost see him shaking under the fabric. It was close to freezing tonight.

"Are you still cold?" I asked, an edge of sympathy creeping back into my voice.

He nodded slowly through his shivers. I was cold myself, and my bare arms and legs didn't help. I climbed carefully onto the bed beside him. I tried to stay close to the edge as I wrapped the other side of the blanket around myself, but I rolled involuntarily towards the center until I was back to back with the drunken runaway. Despite the awkward arrangement, it was warmer with someone next to me. I could feel him shuddering and shaking for a while, until his breathing eventually slowed down and I could tell he was asleep. He sometimes mumbled in his sleep, and at some point in the night he pulled the quilt completely off me from tossing and turning. I found, surprisingly, that I didn't mind at all. In fact, without blankets, I was almost willing to roll a little closer to him.

Just to keep warm, of course.


	6. Things You Overhear

When I woke up, Eridan was gone. The absence of pressure on my back was probably what woke me up, and I turned over to a welcoming beam of sunlight shining through the window. It looked as if it were already midday. I scrambled out of bed and retrieved my wristwatch from a pile of my clothing. 10:30, already? I pulled my sweater out of the pile and over my head, pulled on a pair of pants and stumbled out the door and down the stairs, right into the middle of a heated Vantas argument. Karkat was shouting from his position by the doorway, and Kankri was perched stoically next to the shabby, overstuffed armchair.

"I've already told you how delicate a situation this is. There's going to be real trouble if someone doesn't do something soon, and you're just sitting there like some retarded old-"

Kankri cut him off. "Karkat, you must be aware that that word 'retarded' can be quite offensive to certain-"

"Offensive, my ass!"

"-groups of people. In case you weren't aware-"

"I'm fully aware of any offense I may be causing, just shut up and give me a chance to talk for once in my life!"

Kankri noticed me standing on the stairs and closed his mouth in an attempt to appear more dignified. Karkat blushed angrily and stared hard at the ground. Kankri took a breath and I gritted my teeth as he opened his mouth.

"Good morning, Angela. I trust you had a good nights sleep," Kankri looked vexed, but tried his best to sound polite, "Would you like some coffee? Karkat, would you be kind enough to fetch our guest some coffee and heat up her breakfast? There should be some left over."

Karkat rolled his eyes and mimed shooting himself in the head, walking into the kitchen. Kankri took another breath and continued.

"Oh, and before I forget, do you have any allergies? Any medications you need? Any touchy things you would prefer that we leave out of conversations? Any-"

Karkat wandered through the doorway again, holding a bowl of something resembling oatmeal, and mug of steaming coffee. He thrust it unceremoniously in my general direction. I nodded politely to him, taking care not to spill any coffee, spare another lecture from Kankri.

"Thanks," I mumbled as he walked up the stairs in a huff.

"You're fucking welcome!" He sarcastically replied on his way up. I heard a door slam upstairs. I turned to Kankri to answer some of the many questions I had just been presented with.

"Thank you, Kankri, I don't think I need anything special," he nodded and began to speak, but I cut him off with the rest of my reply, "Though may I ask if I could keep a weapon with me around the house?"

Kankri's eyes widened, but I quickly added, "You must be aware of the recent kidnappings. I would just rather be armed than missing." He looked at me disbelievingly for a second, before shrugging and nodding politely.

"Whatever you need," he replied, crossing his arms indignantly.

"Thanks," I muttered, retreating back upstairs before he could capture me in another one of his endless one-way conversations. As I approached the top of the staircase, Karkat burst out of his bedroom door, his dusty brown overcoat swung over his shoulder and gripping a stack of papers that looked at least somewhat important. He sniffed an irritated "See you later," in my direction before thundering down the rest of the stairs and out the front door without acknowledging his brother.

I wandered through my open bedroom door to find the window open and a ray of sunshine lighting up the dark, dusty space. It was a nice day outside, and it was late enough in the morning that I could hear the mutterings of people in the streets below. I glanced out the open window again, slightly worried. Hadn't it been closed when I woke up this morning? Maybe not. Maybe I had left it open after all, or maybe it had been left open when Eridan escaped my company sometime last night. That was probably it. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I was just being paranoid.

I hopped back onto my bed with my bowl of oatmeal and leaned back against my pillow to eat breakfast in peace. I was a couple bites in when I discovered the note. Written in mysterious purple ink, it was tucked discreetly under my pillow. I somehow recognized the handwriting immediately. Eridan! I carefully unfolded the note, keeping an eye on the door in case Kankri were to burst in on me.

_ Angela:_

_ Thank you for your hospitality last night, but I fear that I must leave now. I owe you one: how about I buy you a drink at the Watch and Needle, the Megido's place tomorrow at eight? Thanks again,_

_ Eridan._

A few of his letters were doubled up or decorated with twists and swirls, giving the impression of a shaky hand. He'd probably been writing in the dark. I wished he would have woken me up, or at least checked with me before he left to make sure I knew everything was okay. But no. I was being obsessive again. I was so wrapped up in my own useless thoughts, I almost missed the P.S.

_ PS: You're a really deep sleeper. Not bein' creepy or anythin!_

The last line seemed rushed, leading me to think that he heard something that scared him off. But at least he left a note. How sweet.

I finished my breakfast, wandering downstairs and leaving the bowl in the sink. There seemed to be a small army of dirty plates on their way to the dishwasher, which didn't look like it had been used in a while. No wonder Nepeta had been rewarded so lavishly for her services. This place was a mess! By the time I was dressed and ready for the day, it was already around 1:00 and the day was more than half over, but I figured it would be a good idea to get out of the house. After all, how long had it been since my eviction? Two or three days? It couldn't be healthy to stay inside for that long. I feared I was getting a bit lazy. Kankri gave me a slightly annoyed nod as I wandered out the front door and into the sunshine.

I began to realize just how large my coat really was as I strolled down the new Main street, trying to avoid the hustle and bustle of the Monday morning market. The sleeves were several inches too long, and hung pointlessly past my hands, as if I were being swallowed by my own jacket. I supposed it wasn't the most flattering piece of clothing to be out and about in, and I backhandedly hoped that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. You had to be careful on Main, or the various shops and vendors would pull you into their commercialistic grasp and force you to spend money you don't have yet. It's also a popular street for muggings and such, and (to be frank), you don't generally meet many nice strangers on the streets.

I passed Maryam Couturier, and waved half-heartedly at Julia, who was tampering with a sewing machine in the front window. The little shop was barely bigger than my bedroom, painted a hearty shade of dark-green, and framed by several wilting rose bushes. The once beautiful floral curtains that hung outside the windows were stained, tattered and ripped to shreds. I was surprised they hadn't been removed yet. But outdoor curtains helped keep the heat inside single-pane windows, and winters in this part of the country could get awfully cold awfully fast.

A few houses and shops over, I passed a pale yellow house aptly labeled Captor Residence in bold, mounted letters. The label looked decades old, and by the sheer neglect obvious from the state of the house, I was sure that it's owner had absolutely no intentions of restoring it to it's former glory. It didn't look like anyone was home. The smoky grey shades were pulled closed and no light shone from behind them. Anyways, I wasn't out for a visit. I was just wandering aimlessly.

After the houses on Main dispersed a bit, I was forced to either take a side-street or continue on towards the abandoned barns and countryside that was once used for actual farming. Not wanting to stray too far from the heart of town, and feeling a bit lazy and tired from even a small bit of walking, I swerved carelessly onto Schrödinger street. The atmosphere darkened severely as I left main, and the large, looming buildings didn't help with my feeling of suddenly being swallowed alive. The Peixes Manor stood at the edge of Schrödinger and Main, and was the first building one would encounter after turning onto this street. One of the only manor houses still standing from the late victorian era, the peeling paint and ivy curling through the plaster and windows gave the house a dirty, grungy, almost undesirable look. Nonetheless, it was the most popular inn for miles around. I passed by it as quickly as I could.

Schrödinger was not what I would call a busy street. At times it looked quite depressing, crumbling houses, shops crammed together, and the tents of the homeless spread haphazardly across the street. It definitely gave off grungy vibes, but hell, so did the the rest of the city. It was also deathly quiet, which was a bit disconcerting until I heard the desolate moan of a wind chime a few shops in front of me. The wind whipped my hair around my neck as I trotted closer to the sound of the chimes, glancing up at the next row of shops, strictly observing.

I ran a little more until I stood straight in front a tiny little shop, barely noticeable from the middle of the street. I was certain I'd never seen it before, although I'd walked up and down this street hundreds of times. A plethora of wind chimes and dream catchers floated above the entrance, and the dead remains of hanging plants were swinging eerily in the breeze. The window panes had been shattered, and the broken glass beneath had not yet been swept away, and it looked utterly abandoned until I caught sight of a barely visible older woman standing inside, wrapped in a dusty cloak and gazing forlornly out the window, but not at me. She looked as if she were a painting. Like she could have blended right in with the landscape. She was thin and small enough that the wind could've blown her away.

A sweep of cold air brushed the shop while all the wind chimes rang and the feathers of dreamcatchers swirled in the wind. She shivered and turned, and I noticed an old man by her side. He was almost a full foot taller than the woman, with a full head of scraggly dark grey hair and a thick black coat. He was thin too, and his emotionless face turned him into a complete skeleton. He wrapped his arms gently around the woman, pulling her into a hug. He rested his head on her shoulder, perfectly framed in the broken window. His lips were pale and thin, pulled together tightly by the piercing stitches that bound his mouth shut. A few tears fell from his cold, midnight-purple eyes. Deep eyes. Like a whole galaxy falling to it's doom in every single tear.

The old man pulled away from the woman who was left stretching her arms out desperately in his direction. His hands moved in swift, sweeping motions that I vaguely recognized as sign language. She nodded sadly at him and signed something swiftly in return before turning around and following him deeper into the shop, and out of view. I was tempted to approach the shop, but I saw no point in an unneeded confrontation. I continued down the street, mood slightly heavier.

A few more houses down the block, I passed The Watch and Needle, at one point a critically acclaimed bar and nightclub run by profoundly popular Damara Megido, and assisted by her younger sister Aradia. A stunted rate of supply and demand had caused it's extreme popularity to die down a little in past years, but it was still a popular hangout spot for adults and youngsters alike, provided they could cough up enough dough to pay for the high toxicity level of the alcohol they consumed. It was a more popular destination in the nighttime and evening, but even in the afternoon, the warm glow of the fireplace radiated from inside and I could hear laughing and talking from the depths. I walked past it, vaguely recalling that I would have to stop by here again later today. I wasn't legally old enough to drink, but since the recession no one seemed to care much, as long as you had money to spend you could up and drink until you passed out and died from alcohol poisoning. No one would care.

Parallel to Main Street stood Sheherazade Ave., one of the slightly less dangerous and generally more financially stable districts. The old abandoned church still stood there, the metal cross rusty and home to a cluster of ravens at any given time of the winter. Many of the stained-glass windows had been shattered by wind and weather, and the doors were boarded up so no one could attempt entry. The wind whistled through the doors so that it almost sounded like the voice of a ghostly preacher delivering sermons to the murder of crows outside his doors. I continued along the street until I began to hear actual voices. A collection of townspeople were cluttered around the hardware shop at the end of the road, shouting agreeably to a speaker who had perched himself on a stack of wood that served as a podium for his apparently short stature. I trotted into the crowd, closer to the speaker, whose voice I recognized immediately as Karkat. I tried to stay hidden in the crowd as he spoke.

"-and this manipulative commercialism bullshit we're seeing everywhere! Is anyone else getting tired of the big dictator corporations shoving luxuries we can barely afford down our throats? Am I the only one who sees the irony of read-alouds of Nineteen Eighty-Four as if it's some science-fiction nightmare that hasn't already happened to us? I mean, without the mind control. We've got public advertising for that,'"

The audience laughed at Karkat's mockery of the new industry. His expression hardened immediately.

"You think that's funny? What about when they come knocking on your door? When they throw your family and friends on the streets, or even abduct the especially unlucky ones for a trip to their shiny white Mechie hellhole? It's happening, every day! They tried to take a friend of mine the other week, I don't think she even suspected that she was on their goddamn kill-list! DO YOU THINK THAT'S FUNNY?"

Karkat's voice reached a deafening crescendo, as the crowd roared. I didn't even noticed myself whistling in support with them until my throat began to ache.

I decided to leave before anything bad happened, and ducked into a nearby alleyway. Darkness was about to set in, but it was still light enough to navigate the streets. The bricks that bordered the road were cracked, strewn and scattered about the street. A few torn newspapers blew with the restless wind. I snatched one up off the ground. It was from a week ago. The big picture on the front showed a smiling man pointing happily at the reader, advertising some sort of "insurance". I kicked a loose brick, and heard the satisfying crack it made upon hitting the ground a foot away. I turned the page over.

Several headlines caught my attention. Murders, burglaries, kidnappings, and rape cases lined the advertisements, their tiny text forcing me to hold the paper right next to my eye to read them. I scanned for familiar names, a practice that I knew well. The Peixes inn was broken into, but the girls were able to beat the intruder off. The Megido's place was responsible for a few nasty fights, and now and then an accidental death. Aside from that, there were no familiar faces, but too many others for comfort. I tossed the paper back to the wind, where the pages separated and fluttered in several different directions. The faint scent of wood shavings blew towards me from the hardware store about a block away, and the bricks lining the road trailed off, marking the edge of town with a steep brick wall known politely as "The Barrier".

I knew by instinct that it was only a brick wall and a few feet of sand between me and the outskirts of the city, the industrial districts that were separated from the general public. I turned left, leaving the nameless alleyways behind me. Lohengrin street was once the face of town, what people saw as they came in and what they remembered as they left. Now, however, nobody came, and those that left could only remember the smoke, dust, tears that battered our city. I walked past another sad block of empty houses and shops, as the early darkness of November threatened to leave me in the dark. I turned back in the direction of Schrödinger, towards the collective center of our city's night life. The block glowed a faded gold from the lights in various windows, and the streetlamps began to flicker on. I shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets and walked back down the street.


	7. Things You Discover

The street was cleared of pedestrians by this time of night. It was one of those odd days where it only just occured to me that I had been wandering aimlessly for the last few hours and accomplished absolutely nothing. Yet again. I seemed to be quite gifted at the art of procrastination. I glanced at my watch, which was clamped tightly around my wrist. 8:04 PM. I hadn't yet decided if it would be a good idea to stop by the Watch and Needle to receive my proper thanks from Eridan, or if I should steer clear of that general area for now. The Watch and Needle was a strange and somewhat dangerous place, but on a good night, it wasn't bad. I approached the door to the bar, subconsciously attracted to the lights and sound from inside. It appeared my feet had made my choice for me.

The building itself was an antique, and the double doors swung open like those old saloons in the west. I pushed one open and tried to look inconspicuous and I stepped into The Watch and Needle. One long bar table spanned a whole wall of the building, and golden glowing lights were spaced out above it. I saw Damara leaning over the serving side of the bar, a frilly red dress hanging off her shoulder, her hair pinned up in a floppy bun, and a cigarette hanging lazily out of her mouth. The other side of the bar was occupied by table and chairs, much like those found at the abandoned inn, filled with customers seated in groups. A group of young men appeared to be deep in a match of poker, glancing nervously at each other with handfuls of playing cards. The tables were packed, even at eight, only a few loners were hanging around the bar. Aradia wandered out of a back room, her hands full of bottles that she filled and re-stacked behind the counter. She tightened her apron, grabbing several glasses and leaving the counter space to deliver them to her customers.

Another waitress in a similar apron and baggy jacket walked out of the kitchen, securing a name tag on her blouse. Her shift must have just begun. She tossed her feathery brown hair over her shoulder and smiled wearily at me as I approached the bar. I noticed Eridan sitting at a table, fingering a half-empty shot glass and engaged in very shallow conversation with Damara, who was leaning over on the table and providing a gracious view down the neck of her shirt. My boots creaked on the wooden floors and my coat hung heavily on my shoulders, and I felt more unwomanly than ever. It put my stomach in knots to see the two of them that close together. I don't know why. I shouldn't have cared. But I did.

I coughed rather obviously as I approached his table, shoving my hands ungratefully in my pockets. Eridan looked up from Damara, who looked over her shoulder and puffed a long string of smoke from the side of her mouth. She frowned and mumbled to herself, walking haughtily back to the counter. Eridan looked slightly insulted, but tried at a smile as he motioned for me to come sit next to him.

"Hey Ang," he ran a hand through his hair, trying to appear a little more put together.

"Hi," I muttered. I tugged back the collar of my coat to look a little less severe, but it didn't lighten the atmosphere of discomfiture.

He tapped his shot glass on the tabletop, apparently a nervous habit of some sort. "I just wanted to say a proper thanks. Y'know, for the other night. I was in a bit of a tough spot."

I glanced at the wood of the table, not meeting his gaze. I clicked my fingernails nervously against the table. He reached out and placed his hand over mine in the middle of the table. I looked up and he was smirking at me in his slightly creepy but also slightly intriguing way. My cheeks grew red. I wanted to slap him. But his look was spellbinding.

He squeezed my hand. His fingers were long, thin and strong, and his fingernails were rather sharp. I tried to tug my hand away, but he held it firmly. He laughed. His laugh was low, breathy, and slightly unnerving.

"I like you, Ang," he mumbled, probably so Damara couldn't hear him from a few tables away. He even glanced over at her, which I found extremely rude. He leaned in closer to me. "You know that, don't you?"

I frowned. "I'm not stupid."

"Good," I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Becau-"

"Listen," I interrupted, rolling my eyes, "I came for a thank you, and I got a thank you. That's all there is. I'd like to be leaving now, unless you're willing to enlighten me with the ever-so-painful circumstances of your midnight visit."

I guess I was talking a bit louder than I meant to, for a small clump of girls at another table turned in our general direction. I quieted down.

"So do you have anything to say for yourself?" I hissed.

He let go of my hand and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The brown haired waitress glanced over at us.

"I'd rather spare you the details," he retorted, and edge of discomfort and sarcasm in his voice. "But you're here, so I might as well give you an explanation."

I glared at him, resting an elbow on the counter. "I'm waiting."

He cleared his throat, crossing his arms and leaning forward in his chair. "W-well, uh, back in the 20's, before the recession, my dad was one of them big political icons, y'know? One of them new industry businessmen who ain't got the time to take a breath of fresh air after barkin' orders at production teams all day," he paused, and I nodded for him to continue. His grammar was a bit lacking, and I suspected he wasn't completely sober.

"Anyways, my mom was in his department. She was ambitious, had dreams of becomin' one of them big business-women, like Helena Rubinstein, or y'know, Betty Crocker or somethin'." I nodded at him again, failing to see connections. "She married my dad. Prob'ly just climbin' her way up the social ladder. They hated each other. But she was able to crank out a few children nonetheless," he nodded derogatorily to himself. "Don't think you've met him, but my big brother ain't exactly the poster child for a political powerhouse family. They took another chance with me, but I wasn't exactly what they were fishin' for either. Recession hit, industry crashed and burned. Long story short, we were sunk," he cleared his throat.

"For a few years we managed, but in recent years, dad's been drinking again. Mom ain't had no sense but to tell him off for it every night. She should've just left him alone when he yelled at her," he swallowed nervously, "But she didn't know better. He beat her every night. Cronus and I couldn't always be there to keep her safe."

He was tearing up a bit. I folded my hands in the center of the table again. "What happened that night, though?"

"She got him real mad," he admitted, "He hit her till her face was bleeding. I tried to stand in his way, but he did the same to me. Cronus yelled at him a bit, but it didn't change nothin'. Mom screamed until he grabbed her and threw her down on the floor. I was too scared to help her. Cronus tried to stop him, but dad pushed him into a table and I heard a rib crack. Mom was cryin', but he just yelled some more and kicked her until she stopped moving," his eyes were fixed off in the distance, and his voice cracked.

"I was curled up on the ground. I couldn't believe my ears. I heard Cronus shouting at dad, 'You killed her! You son of a bitch, you killed my mother!' He shouted at me to leave, and I did. I got out of there as fast as I could," he paused, somewhat melodramatically, "And the next thing I remember..." His mood shifted drastically from pretentious to sincere .

"... I was next to you."

I drew my hands back from the center of the table and shoved them shyly into my pockets. "I'm sorry..." I could only imagine losing a parent. I could only imagine that much violence and hatred circulating around a family for that many years, until it became unbearable. I could only imagine.

He swallowed guiltily. I could tell by his narrative that he blamed himself for making such a pathetic effort to save her, but I could also tell he was making an effort to appear gentlemanly and calm. I suddenly felt guilty myself for making him relive what was no doubt the worst night of his life.

I shook my head sadly. "If I'd known..."

He shrugged. "Nothing would have changed," he closed his eyes and resigned to tapping his shot glass on the tabletop. "You got an explanation. You can leave now." I looked at the floor.

The brown haired waitress wandered over. Her hair was a bit longer than shoulder length, layered in feathery waves around the low-cut collar of her uniform. Her eyeshadow sparkled in the low lights. I could tell she wasn't a Megido, she didn't have the same look as Aradia and Damara... but I could tell she was stunningly beautiful.

Eridan didn't seem awfully entranced. She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and he looked even sadder. I read her nametag. Mika.

"Anything I can do for you guys?" She directed her question mostly at him, as if the two of them already knew each other. It occurred to me that they probably did. Eridan kept his eyes closed.

"We're fine," I nodded at her, and she shrugged and walked over to another table. He sighed. I coughed awkwardly.

"So where are you staying these days?" I attempted a smooth conversation change, but he opened his eyes and looked at me as if I'd said something completely off topic.

"What do you mean 'where am I staying'?" He almost laughed.

"Where do you live? With your brother?" I crossed my arms indignantly.

"My brother?" This time he did laugh. "You must be kidding. I wouldn't live in the same house with Cronus if he were the last man on earth." He put his elbows on the counter. "I'm fine by myself." He did a smooth job of avoiding my question, and he countered before I could press the matter.

"What about you?" he rested his head in his hands. "Oh, wait, what was I thinking. I already know where you live."

I rolled my eyes. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately? I would've thought that was a good thing," he tossed his hair back with a well coordinated flip of the head and smiled. A poser if I ever saw one.

I crossed my legs irritatedly. "You're a terrible conversationalist."

"If you're sick of talking, I have other ideas for how we could spend the rest of the night," he smiled at the floor.

"Excuse me?!" I blushed, whispering harshly at him as a couple of girls approached us. "Are you_ usually_ this racy and insensitive?"

He tilted his head and shrugged, but an unfamiliar young women cut off his response. "Hey!" she rested her hand protectively on the back of my chair, though I'd never seen her before in my life. "Is this asshole bothering you?"

The young woman looked about my age, but it was hard to tell. Her short hair was dyed a stunning scarlet color, like that of a flame, and her deep ebony lipstick made for a remarkable contrast. Her smoky, piercing gaze revealed eyes of the same magnificent scarlet color. Her dress, a strange, shimmering mix of midnight blue and deep purple, looked as if it had been ripped just above the knees, and thick black jacket covered with buttons and zippers kept her warm. She was accompanied by another taller girl, standing defensively behind her. I looked uncertainly up at them.

"Is he making you uncomfortable?" the red-haired girl asked again, glaring at him like there was no one she loathed more. Eridan rolled his eyes.

"Back off Ais, I haven't done anythin' wrong..." He reached out and grabbed my hand again, rather forcefully. "She was just-"

The taller girl stepped forward. Her short dark hair fell close to her face, and her glasses, long buttoned coat, and dark blue lipstick gave her a calm yet severe look. She cut him off mid-sentence. Her voice was smooth and intimidating.

"Eridan, you leave that girl alone."

He didn't argue, merely took a moment to take a good look at her. I could tell she was one of those people whose looks said more than her words ever could have. He let go of my hand, which I promptly shoved back in my coat pocket. I glanced at the ground.

"He's not bothering me," I mumbled, not facing my saviors, but secretly glad that they'd taken note of my situation, "I'm fine..."

The red-haired girl looked as if she didn't completely believe me, but she nodded nonetheless. Her friend shot Eridan another nasty look, which he gladly returned. The red head patted my shoulder, and looked me in the eye.

"Be careful."

She and her friend turned and walked through the swinging double doors into the night. Eridan dragged himself lazily to his feet, and I followed. Come to think of it, that was probably the very beginning of my long chain of mistakes. I followed him, in and of my own free will. If I'd walked away from that moment, I could've saved myself a lot of pain and trouble. But I saw the look on his face as he rose sleepily to his feet, like he'd never met a more awful and frightening person than himself. There was a part of him that scared me. The amorous, aggressively flirtatious part of him that wouldn't take no for an answer. But I longed to revisit the gentle, compassionate part of him that would walk me home on a snowy day, or keep me warm on a cold night. He glanced sadly at me, and I reached over and held his hand. He looked so surprised it almost made me laugh out loud. I intertwined my fingers with his.

"Ang, what are you doing?" he looked at me strangely. I just smiled and led him out the front door, into the heavy rain. It pitter-pattered off the rooftops and we were almost instantly soaked upon exit. He didn't seem to notice, merely waited for an answer to his question, staring at me in disbelief. I grabbed his other hand, leaned up, and pressed my soaking wet lips against his in a brief but perfectly timed kiss.

He smiled hesitantly through his confusion. The torrential downpour didn't serve as a particularly comfortable setting for conversation, so I dragged him down the street, the both of us sprinting and laughing all the while. You'll never guess where we went: up the rickety fire escape. He helped me in the slippery window this time, instead of the other way around, and we made sure to close it tightly so no rain would leak through my window. Kankri and Karkat weren't home. Our clothes were soaking wet... We wrapped ourselves in blankets to keep dry, and I lit a candle in my room, so it wouldn't be completely dark as dusk fell. I was numb and shivering from the cold, but he managed to keep me warm. It was even pleasantly surprising how quickly my last candle burnt out.

You'll never guess how we spent the rest of the night.


	8. Things You Surrender

THE PRESENT: October 12, 2056

They say that time heals all wounds.

Whoever came up with this obviously had no idea what they were talking about. If anything, time makes it worse. Time gives you a little while to 'reflect'. On everything you should've said, everything you should've done, everything chance that you never took, and every moment of the future that will never be. Time takes all your guilt, grief, suffering and heartache and gives you a chance to take a good long look at yourself as whole. Was it all worth it? Have things turned out like they were supposed to? If the answer is no, it might be time to reexamine the eternal question. Fight, or flight?

It wasn't a decision.

It was early on a Sunday afternoon, and I was wrapped in the thickest coat I could find in the house, no doubt an old hunting jacket. I had piled on as many layers of warm clothing as I could onto Jamie, but she looked just as cold and pale as usual. She coughed more than she talked. Medicine was out of the question, the last public pharmacist had been taken away years ago. And I'd given up on any form on handmade medication. She'd been deemed incurable, and in the back of my mind, I knew that any effort I made on her part would be wasted. I ushered her tenderly out the door, and into the snow. I knew a walk in winter probably wasn't the best thing for her health, but she would only have to make the trip once.

She turned helplessly in a circle as I closed the door behind me, and I had to grab her little hand and pull her along behind me to be sure she followed. The town had definitely taken a turn for the worse in the last few years. Most buildings were empty, most people were gone, and most of those left had been forced to abandon hope. You had to be careful out in the streets, at any time of the day. I grabbed her hand hard enough that she whimpered, and I was sure to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity that might get in our way. Down the block, I spotted my destination.

Jamie rubbed her eyes and she looked as if she were about to start crying. I shushed her rather aggressively and pulled her onto the steps on another small and somewhat pathetic corner-house. It had recently been reoccupied. I knocked on the door, since the shades were pulled down. It was too early in the morning to be raining that hard, but it was beginning to sprinkle lightly. I knocked again, getting more anxious by the minute. I heard footsteps on the other side, and it was not long before the door swung open and I was faced with another old friend.

"Angela?!" Julia's eyes widened when she saw me, and she lunged forward into a hug. I let go of Jamie's hand to return her embrace. "I haven't seen you in the longest time..." I glanced over her shoulder and through her doorway, which was occupied by several of her own small children, huddled against each other in a little clump. Jamie coughed helplessly. I pulled away from the hug, feeling less confident with my mission by the second. She put her hand on my shoulders and looked me in the eye.

"Are you okay? Karkat told me what happened..." She patted me reassuringly on the shoulder and I looked at the ground. Jamie turned around in a few helpless circles and tugged on my arm. She was so innocent. I wished that she could've enjoyed the same careless childhood I had. But things were harder now, for everyone, and she would not be spared. And however guilty I felt for my decisions, there was no way I could go about being a mother with no one to father my child.

I looked up at her. Her hair had grown longer over the years, and it hung down to her waist in thick brown curls. Her dress was long and worn, and she kept the thick green coat that I had first seen her in. She looked slightly overworked, but her children appeared healthy and well taken care of. She would be the perfect mother.

"Do you want to come in?" She asked, glancing at Jamie, who was clinging to my dress.

"No," I shook my head, ripping the small child's hand off of my dress. "I've only come to ask a favor of you."

"Of course!" She smiled sadly at me, "Anything."

I nudged Jamie in front of me, and pushed her unceremoniously in Julia's direction. She whined and clung to the front of Julia's dress. I looked down and a loose strand of hair fell in front of my face. I didn't cry. Even if I could have, I wouldn't have. I had lost the ability.

"Take her," I muttered, "Please take her."

The child began to cry, and Julia put a loving arm around her.

"Ang..." she glanced at her four other children, huddled inside. I knew she would be able to take care of Jamie better than I ever could. No doubt a more loving mother would do her well as she lived out her remaining days.

"I can't take care of her myself," I explained, "And I can't stay here. She will be happier with you."

Julia shook her head sadly and picked up the child, holding her against her chest. She had always been stronger than me, physically and emotionally. "Do you just need some time alone? I can look after her for a little while," she asked, looking at me as though I were openly weeping, although not a sound fell from my mouth, nor a tear from my eye.

"No," I admitted, "I just can't care of her anymore."

"...I think you're making a mistake-"

"I don't want her! Get her away from me!" I shouted, turning around and pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders. "She reminds me too much of him..."

Julia held the child close, like she was one of her own, and looked at me with great pity. "Isn't that a good thing? Don't you want to remember him?"

"No."

One of her own children ran up to her from behind, pulling on her skirt and asking her questions. She lovingly waved the child away, and he and his siblings ran into the house. I could see my little Jamie with brothers and sisters. It would make her less of a lonely child.

"She won't be much trouble," I mumbled, "All she needs is a bed to rest her head on. She won't be a burden on you for much longer."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes."

Jamie coughed, right on cue. She was getting worse, and the big black rip in my heart grew wider every day, as I watched her dying. Slowly. Painfully. The angel of death was knocking on her door, and it wouldn't be long before I was all alone again. That was how it was meant to be, I suppose. My family was dead or dying, my friends had moved on. All that was left was me, and the world in it's entirety, eager to keep me alive and writhing in agony over my losses for as long as necessary. Either way, I didn't want to be around when Jamie took her last breath.

Julia hugged the child close to her. She looked at me, just one look, and I could tell that she knew exactly what was going on in my head. She nodded to me, and I nodded back.

"Thank you." Jamie turned her little head over her shoulder to look at me. I waved half-heartedly at her, and she looked at me quizzically. I was never gifted with children. I turned away from the house and began to walk back down the street, not looking back, with both my hands confined to my pockets this time, not having to hold anyone's hand. It was a strange feeling. It was reassuring in a way, though I could not tell if it was good or bad. I had been told many times during my life that I was a thoroughly independent woman. That I was, in some sense, better off alone. But at that moment, there was nothing I needed more than to feel someone's hand in mine.


	9. Things You Apologize For

THE PAST~ December 14, 2049

Over the next several weeks, strange as it seemed, I began to notice that Karkat and his crazy ideas might just be having an effect on the rest of the world. I read the newspaper on a weekly basis: the next town over boycotting a factory attempting to move in on their grounds. Coincidence? Maybe. He was out as often as possible, much to Kankri's dismay. I often tagged along with him, but I was usually pretty disinterested in whatever he was doing. He'd established quite an unusual clan of rebels to assist him in his bold new mission of overthrowing the city's authoritative figures. He couldn't always escape from the terrors of family life, however, and it was only a matter of time before I met the infamous Terezi Pyrope, Karkat's tragically blind yet frighteningly aggressive young fiance.

For starters, she has a huge stuffed animal fetish. She collects them in the hundreds, thousands, and anything that the poor creatures have affixed themselves to, be it cookie jars, mailboxes, puzzles, laundry hampers... you get the idea. Even worse, she always insists on carrying one or two of them around with her, these tiny little antique collectible ones. She's especially fond on this yellow reptilian one, I think it's supposed to be a lizard or something. She even has them all named, and she remembers every single one. It's the most ridiculous thing you've ever seen in your life.

Having dinner with her was an interesting change of pace for me, but it seemed utterly nightmarish for Karkat. She talked almost constantly, which honestly really pissed Kankri off. She was completely oblivious to any annoyance she was causing, even when Karkat flat out insulted her and Kankri made him apologize. Whenever we did get a chance to talk, she laughed nervously at everything we said, and put so much effort into being liked that once and awhile I actually found myself rooting for her.

The only explanation for her profound interest in fluffy things was probably her blindness. She was so high-functioning in her navigation that you could barely tell she was blind at all, unless you took a good long look at her eyes, which she usually kept hidden behind a pair of red glasses. To make up for her lack of sight, she was incredibly in-tune to her other four senses. She was a very "touchy" person, by which I mean she was pretty pushy with her physical contact. You had to be prepared for a full-on tackle hug every time she said hello, and if you weren't careful, she'd have you by the arm with no way to escape. She was also fascinated by scents. I guess she felt like she had to have some way to compliment you besides the usual "you look nice today", so she resorted to the slightly less common, "you smell good". Especially Karkat. He always seemed to smell delicious.

He actually did smell pretty good, but that wasn't something you just said out loud. There were a lot of social norms that Terezi generally ignored. In other words, she had absolutely no manners. I often found myself staring hopelessly out the window at the stars while she went on and on about whatever. I had a lot of time to think about things that I usually didn't have the time to think about. I thought about finding a job, I thought about my old house. I thought about little Nepeta, I thought about the Mechanicals and I thought about my future in this city. But more than anything else, try as I might to fight it, I thought about Eridan. I had the strangest daydreams. I hadn't seen him in a week or so, and a week was far too long. I guess you could say I'd been staying away from him on purpose... or maybe I was just practicing restraint? Maybe running back to his side and making love to him under a gentle snowfall would be gaudy and anticlimactic.

I remember watching the sunset and half-listening to Terezi's detailed explanation of the pure excitement she found into collecting Beanie Babies, when Karkat finally took a stand against this disgusting display of inhumanity. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, glaring at her as if she'd just insulted every single one of his family members in alphabetical order by showing such ludicrous enthusiasm towards her small fluffy collectibles.

"Terezi," he tried to interrupt her, but she kept on talking.

"-And you'll never guess what I found the other day when-"

"Terezi!" He looked pretty angry. But then again, she was blind, so it's not like that was very obvious to her.

"What? So then I-"

"_Terezi, no one gives a fuck about your stupid hobbies!_" He groaned annoyedly and crossed his arms like an angry child. Kankri nearly dropped his silverware, and Terezi stopped mid-sentence. Karkat scooted his chair back and stood up angrily.

"So why don't you do us all a favor and shut the fuck up before you choke on your own spit! Do you even realize how obnoxious you are?!"

Terezi's blank eyes widened and she looked crushed. "Sorry Karkat..." Kankri glanced uncomfortably from Karkat to Terezi, to me. I shrugged at him.

Karkat was red in the face. When he gets going, he can be a little harsh and insensitive. He has a way of spilling out all his thoughts and feelings at the most inopportune moments. "Well I sure hope you're sorry! Maybe then you'll stop coming around all the time. We all know that the only reason we've held this arrangement for so long is because no one else in this shitty town has the patience to put up with you, except my ostentatious prude of a brother!"

Kankri cleared his throat angrily. "Karkat-"

"I know, I'm leaving!" He stepped angrily across me. He grabbed his jacket, which was hanging off the radiator, and stormed out the door, leaving it wide open. Kankri looked completely unsure of what to say to Terezi, but she looked like she might cry. He glanced at me.

"Would you do me a favor and fetch him?" Kankri waved me away, and I took my chance for a breath of fresh air, following Karkat out the door, leaving a stunned, insulted, and slightly heartbroken Terezi in my wake. I scrambled out the door, pulling my arms into the sleeves of my sweater.

It was mid-evening, and a smoky orange glow surrounded us. The sky was polluted with smoke from nearby power plants and large, dark clouds swirled over the Barrier. Karkat leaned irritably against the building, arms crossed and head titled lividly to the ground. His thick red hair was getting a little bit out of control, and it whipped around in the wind in front of his face. I knew for a fact that he absolutely hated his hair. He used to say that there was never a redhead in history who'd succeeded in changing the world for the better, and there was never a man under five foot seven who'd amounted to anything more than an ordinary tool of society. I always told him he would just have to be the first. He was such a devoted idealist, he was bound to amount to something.

I wandered over and leaned against the wall next to him, somewhat mockingly. I let my hair fall over my face, just like his. He growled annoyedly, and I couldn't help but smile to myself. A little teasing wouldn't hurt him. I imitated his growl and shoved my shoulder against him. He tried to keep a straight face by glaring at me, but I grabbed his shirt collar and started tickling his neck. He tried to hold back giggles (after all, he was probably trying to be serious), but I was too good for him. He burst out laughing, occasionally letting loose a curse word or another "Ang! Stop it, seriously!" I didn't take him seriously whatsoever. In a fit of laughter, he managed to shove my hands away.

"Okay, that's _enough_," he panted. I smiled, but tried my best to regain my composure and speak to him seriously for a moment.

"You should apologize," I admitted, catching his eye at last. "That was pretty rude of you back there."

He nodded sadly, all his rage gone. "I know. I'm just really sick of that woman."

"You could at least give her a chance. You're complaining without even listening to her first."

He tilted his head skeptically, "I thought you hated her too!"

I shrugged. "She's pretty annoying, but that's not the point. It's our responsibility to treat everyone like their worth giving a chance."

He took a moment to look at me, really look at me. He tucked his red hair behind an ear blinked inquisitively, trying to puzzle out my logic. "I'm going to quote you on that later," he declared, "Maybe I'll change your mind."

"Either way, you should apologize. To her at least, and to your brother as well if you're feeling especially courteous."

"I'm usually not."

I rolled my eyes at him, and I caught the faintest hint of a smile on his face. I nudged his shoulder in the direction of the house, and he sighed, lumbering to his feet and towards the door. I wasn't sure I wanted to be witness to whatever would follow, but I figured it would be unfriendly of me to make him deal with Terezi alone. He heaved the door open, and I held my breath, ready for another drama-filled afternoon with the most obnoxious woman on the planet. Kankri had risen from his perch and met Karkat at the door, whispering something harshly in his ear before stepping aside to let him in the doorway. I could hear Terezi's dramatic sniffles from inside. Kankri shut the door behind Karkat, and I didn't even bother opening it again to allow myself entry. I glanced at Kankri and he glanced at me, without talking for once.

"Let's take a walk," he suggested.

I nodded and shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets. Kankri fixed the collar of his windbreaker over his turtleneck sweater. He cleared his throat pretentiously and I followed him down the street. I stayed a few paces behind him, too nervous to talk. The way he conducted himself was so different from his brother- he held his head high, his back was straight, his face stayed level and neutral, even in the heat of an argument. His voice was lower and less emotional than Karkat. You could almost hear him judging every move you made.

He walked down a mysteriously out-of-the-way alley, avoiding an authoritative interrogation taking place across the street. I followed, trying as best I could to pretend I hadn't noticed his obvious discomfort at the sight of policemen. I trotted up closer behind him, until we were shoulder to shoulder. Shouting echoed across the street we had just turned to avoid. I looked up at Kankri, expecting some sort of emotion to show on his face, but I was met with none. He and Karkat shared the same fiery red hair and eyes, but there was a dullness to Kankri that I could only speculate as to the reason. Unlike Karkat, it was difficult tell what he was thinking and feeling, and (although he was usually happy to explain with his words) I could tell that the subject of arranged marriage was one he had a somewhat painful history with.

"Kankri," I inquired, as he turned his head numbly in my direction, "Will you tell me about Porrim?"

He swallowed and returned his head to it's original position, facing forwards down the alleyway at a curl of smoke escaping a far-off chimney. He slowed to a stop at the end of the alley, at the curb of the street. He closed his eyes, smiling a bit, amused.

"I was so in love," he shook his head, chuckling slightly under his breath, "And I was young... I had no ken of other women beside whom I could measure her." He talked like he was from the 17th century or something. I didn't mind, only had to read into his words even more than usual. I watched the small smile fall off his face as he drifted back to reality.

"But I don't have much else to say on the matter," he tossed his flaming red hair out of his eyes, "I just want to make sure Karkat doesn't make the same mistakes that I did by waiting too long." He avoided my gaze, and I didn't press for a more in-depth explanation. "He does not understand the proper workings of society. It will be easier for him once he realizes that one man can't make a difference in today's world," he shook his head sadly, "It just doesn't happen that way anymore."

I glanced at the pavement. "Oh." Kankri nodded to himself, stepping into the street. I followed him for about a block, the wind picking up and the orange glow of the evening fading to night. He didn't seem to be heading back in the direction of the house, so I wondered where he thought he was going. I was starting to get a little nervous when he found a sidewalk bench and settled himself on it, sighing and crossing his legs in a very un-Kankri like manner. He didn't look like he wanted me to join him. My hair whipped angrily around my cheeks in the sharp evening wind, and I tried to swallow the growing lump in my throat. I stood beside the bench, observing him for a moment in silence. I guess even Kankri is lost for words sometimes.

"I'm going to head back to the house," I murmured in Kankri's general direction. He nodded, and I could see his thin shoulders rising and falling with each breath. I pivoted back towards the alleyway that he had taken to his bench. The way he had navigated through the side street led me to believe that he visited the spot often, perhaps seeking some privacy or quiet from the general hubbub provided by Karkat, Terezi and I. I took a last glance at him, assuming he would bid me goodbye; he merely gazed into the distance, in a trance of the past that I had no doubt set him in with mention of Porrim, his late fiance.

I wandered back down the alley, my eyes cast down and my mind wandering. I wondered things about Kankri that I had never before wondered in years of knowing him; under his shadow of death, dominated by the quietus of his young sweetheart, he appeared less like a parental figure and more like an older, wiser Karkat. I shook my head, trying to clear it of thought. I knew that the next time I looked at Kankri, I wouldn't recall the ponderings of one moment at a lonely park bench. I would return to the house, and settle down for a long nights sleep. I would wake up to another lecture from my friend's older brother, insisting that don't waste the day sleeping. By tomorrow Kankri would have returned to his old self in my eyes, and nothing more. In the meantime, I would try my best to do as little serious thinking as possible. After all, it takes more than just one person to change the world.

It takes more than just one thought to form an idea.


	10. Things You Observe

A woman stood in a darkened room. It was not a tall room, but it was wide, and the ceiling hung low so that it resembled a cave, the walls lined with piles of dirty cables, misplaced machinery, and large screens, wires and other pieces of technological equipment. The floor was concrete, stained and darker in patches, and a few tools had been left dangerously near to the center. There was no visible light source, but a hazy metallic glow radiated somewhere from the walls. Despite the dim light, the woman appeared to have no trouble seeing. She was clad in a long blue coat with a row of gold buttons and long tails, the sleeves cuffed up, having been too long for her arms. Her tanned work boots rose mid-calf, with long and tattered laces and a thick heel. Her coat destroyed her curves, and she may have passed for a young man if not for her long black hair, that fell down her shoulders in distinct waves. One eye had been gouged out, and her face was twisted and scarred.

One of her arms was prosthetic, but the skin had been torn almost completely off, revealing a rusty metal frame and a mess of wires and circuits that buzzed and flickered under her sleeves. Robotics and surrounding scientific fields had flourished in the years before the meltdown, and advanced prosthetics had (at one time) been widely available during the initial stages of the war. Her face was stitched closed in several places that had ripped, and the her satisfied smile and flickering circuits gave her an obvious air of transhumanism. Her name too was Serket, but of a different kind. Vriska Serket.

Vriska Serket was a very important person. The nameless organization (nicknamed by most as the Mechanicals), was an extensive circuitry of officials who reported to officials, and etcetera until the duties were spread so wide that no one was really sure who was in charge of it all. Vriska's responsibilities as the overseer of most technical aspects of the organization were not awfully laborious, and she often spent hours in the same room, merely observing her subordinates and occasionally reprimanding them for their errors with an almost sadistic look of amusement on her face.

This particular afternoon, she had her eye on one underling in particular. A new transfer, a tiny little woman who called herself Nepeta. She wasn't skilled with technology, nor machinery, and seemed to have no real skills whatsoever. She was polite, however, and seemed enthusiastic and devoted enough to get the hang of anything she was assigned to, whether or not she was exceptionally gifted at it. Vriska had been somewhat suspicious of her sudden and unexpected interest in assisting in her department, but help was always well appreciated. The building and it's immediate surroundings were protected by a variety of forcefields and barriers, most of which had to be frequently re-coded and reinforced to keep any unwanted hackers out of the system. Nepeta was not skilled in the slightest in this area of work, but she did her best to satisfy her superiors.

Vriska was not what one would call "friendly". What little attention she placed upon her respective underlings usually arrived in the form of heartless teasing, taunting, and the occasional threat. Nepeta had been doing her best to make her performance satisfactory under the ruling of such a harsh advisor, which made Vriska all the more curious about her. Nepeta was hired by some desperate authority, trying to build up more of a work force. Vriska had had no part in this, and could not help but be doubtful of the motives of the little woman.

Vriska stood still, in the room, watching Nepeta but making no effort to tamper with her performance. She stood tall, her hair casting a deep, dubious shadow across the floor. Nothing could be heard but Nepeta's fingernails on her keyboard, and the occasional inhale from one of the women. Vriska had a feeling that something wasn't perfect. She could always tell when things weren't as they should be, and it made her just the slightest bit uneasy. Uneasy enough to keep watch on Nepeta until the feeling went away.


	11. Things Forgiven

"I don't know why I even bother anymore," Karkat talked as he stood over the sink, washing dishes with an aggression not normally exhibited in day-to-day chores, "I mean, no one really listens to me, do they? They all just blow me off as that angry guy with the stupid ideas..."

The only way you could get Karkat to do chores is if you let him talk. It was late in the day, but the sun was still glowing golden-red over the city. I sat outside on the step, chewing on the crust of some toast, with Sollux and Eridan by my sides. It had become routine, you might say, for the four of us to eat together and enjoy the evenings. Aside from the fact that Sollux and Eridan hated each other with an almost romantic passion, and Karkat sort of hated everyone, we seemed to get along well enough. I hadn't been properly introduced to Sollux until a week or so ago, when Karkat and I noticed him wandering aimlessly around Main Street. He'd claimed he was busy, but he just seemed rather lonely and somewhat sad, so we encouraged him to come along with us. He didn't talk much, but was always scoffing or rolling his eyes at Karkat and Eridan, who weren't nearly as shy. He treated me with even less respect, barely daring to talk to me unless I spoke to him first, which I usually didn't. Karkat, however, talked enough for everyone.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" he shot an accusatory glance at Sollux, who raised his bony hands to his shoulders and shrugged in surrender. His rolled his eyes as Karkat huffed angrily in the direction of his dishtowel. Eridan nibbled inconspicuously on his toast.

"I just have a lot to talk about. There's a lot to think about. There's a lot to do," He lifted a pile of clean plates into the cupboard above his head, "And if I want something done right, I usually have to do it myself."

Sollux nodded, partially in agreement, partially to fulfill the obligatory response that came from being conversational partners with Karkat. He ruffled his own poorly cut blonde hair. His bangs hung so far in front of his face that they nearly interrupted his line of sight. His pale yellow jacket, apparently a beaten-down suede or low-quality leather, was unraveling at the wrists. He pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, and cleared his throat.

"Do you have anything else to eat around here, or what?" Sollux finally worked up the courage to mumble. I took another look. It was easy to ignore under the leathery folds of his jacket, but he was frightfully thin. His eyes were smoky and sunken beneath the lenses of his glasses, and his cheeks were flat and hollow.

Karkat looked over his shoulder, placing the last few clean dishes in their cupboards with a satisfying clink. Sollux looked regretfully at the floor, and whispered something to himself that might've been "Oh, nevermind…" Karkat cocked his head, mildly surprised.

"Of course," his voice softened a little, "Our house is your house, idiot. You take whatever you need."

Sollux nodded a little bit, his sharp shoulders collapsing even farther in on themselves. He didn't look anybody in the eye. Eridan placed a hand on his shoulder. Sollux shot a critical glance at him, but didn't object. I felt like I should be doing something. I rubbed my thumb against the crust of my toast. I held it out half-heartedly in front of Sollux, who glanced once at the bread, and then up at me somewhat pathetically. I smiled at him, and nodded my head encouragingly. Eridan's discrepant frown faded slightly as he handed the remainder of his own toast to Sollux as well. Sollux looked like he was about to cry. Karkat grinned at him, walking towards the door and sitting next to him on the steps. I had to scoot over a bit, but I didn't mind. Eridan growled annoyedly, but let Karkat squeeze in between him and Sollux. Karkat's thick, small hands were wet still, and soap bubbles gathered between his fingers. He rubbed them off on his shirt before forcefully and awkwardly taking hold of Sollux's free hand. Sollux made a small squeaking noise and blushed, biting his tongue. Karkat shifted his damp hand in Sollux's, coughing to himself and staring intensely at the ground. Eridan raised his eyebrows in surprise, and suppressed a giggle. Karkat's cheeks glowed bright red. I smiled.

"A-ahh…" Sollux tried to say something, but it came out like more of a murmur than a sentence. He clung to his charity toast and Karkat's hand as if they were of roughly the same importance, but Karkat looked more as if we were saving a life. Eridan found them absolutely hilarious, and was forced to cover his mouth with his hands to avoid a fit of laughter. Karkat glared scornfully at him.

"Shut the fuck up." Eridan only laughed harder. Sollux still looked fairly confused. I rested my head in my hands. I had such strange friends.

My head snapped back up as the sound of a gunshot echoed through my ears.

All at once, our heads turned in the direction of the shot, which couldn't have been more than a block away. Not a second following, an agonizing shout rang out, and a woman's screams. I recognized that shout. I recognized those screams. And so did Karkat.

By the time I had scrambled to my feet, Karkat had torn his hand from Sollux's and taken off down the street as fast as I had ever seen him run. Sollux stumbled to his feet and ran as well, a glimmer of panic in his oddly colored eyes. Eridan ran after them at full tilt. Karkat, however, had rounded the street corner before I'd had a moment to process the situation. His instincts had kicked in immediately.

I rounded the corner, following my momentum, but skidded to a halt behind Karkat, who was standing firm and still over the body slumped over on the sidewalk. Julia, the apprentice seamstress, held her face in her hands, her eyes clouded with frantic tears. Kankri inhaled shakily from the ground, a dark red tear in his chest seeping blood onto the pavement and onto his hands as he clutched his heart. I could see, through my perepheral vision, an officer of the law escaping the scene of his violence, a shotgun still smoking ominously in his guilty hands. The officer shook his head angrily and ran. Julia stared after him, her fearful eyes growing larger as helpless sobs crowded her throat.

Kankri suppressed a painful moan, and Karkat dropped to his knees, leaning over his mortally wounded brother. Karkat clutched his brother's bloody hands, muttering pannicked reassurances. Julia was crying too hard to breathe. She tried to inhale, but looked as if she were drowing. Sollux ran to her side, attempting to hush her with a pat on the shoulder, of which her only response was to tear herself from his grasp and fall to her knees beside Kankri. His eyes were barely open, and his head hung almost lifelessly at his side. Karkat clung to his blood-stained hands, trying to keep him from slipping into unconciousness.

"Kankri," Karkat's voiced wavered with aggressive uncertaintly, "Kankri, don't fucking die on me, you useless son of a bitch..." Karkat pressed his hand against Kankri's cheek, leaving a smear of blood. "I need you!"

Sollux and Eridan took a couple steps back, transfixed by Karkat's sudden display of affection. Julia leaned over Kankri, a few of her silver tears falling to Kankri's chest. He winced, as if the pain of the bullet had overwhelmed him again. His face was as pale as a snowstorm, and his eyes were focused through the clouds, towards the heavens. His colorless lips moved in the subconcious rhythm of silent prayers. Thou father who art in heaven. Deliver me from my sins. Dear God, please. Deliver me.

Kankri eyes plummeted back to life. "Kar...Karkat," he muttered, grasping his brother's hand with returned firmness now.

"Yes? What is it, Kankri? You're going to be okay, you hear me?! You're going to live," tears were forming in Karkat's eyes as he clutched desperately to the hand of his brother, his guide, his lifeline. Karkat would not let go.

"I...I need you to..." Kankri struggled to get the words out, but Karkat nodded after everything he said, encouraging him to try a little bit harder. Julia rested her hands lightly on his chest, his blood dampening her skin. She gazed at him like a dying angel. Kankri's sightline drifted to Julia's face for a moment, and he made brief eye contact with her. He whispered to her, as she leaned closer over his face, "I... I need... you... please..."

"Please what-" She started to whisper back to him, but before the words had left her tongue, Kankri had locked their lips together in a gentle, tender embrace. She closed her eyes and let a few deathly silent tears roll off her cheeks as she pulled away. Kankri's eyes were nearly shut, his body had ceased movement, and the blood that had been seeping from his body was staining the sidewalk. "K-Kankri?" she whispered to his frozen face.

"Forgive him..." Kankri's lips closed around his final sentence. His eyes slid slowly into the realm of the lifeless, his eyelids like partially closed curtains on a brutal tragedy. Karkat still clung to his dead hand, a dumbfounded disbelief falling over his face. Julia whispered to herself, rising slowly to her feet. Forgive him. Forgive him.

Julia took Karkat's hand and helped him to his feet. Karkat was shaking with emotion. His face was cold and distant. "I'm going to kill him," Karkat muttered to himself, or perhaps to Julia, "I'm going to kill that bastard who murdered my brother." Julia just put her arms around him, her own shame and sadness keeping her from a response. Karkat looked at the blood on his hands. And where was I? I had not moved an inch. I had stood, but only five feet away, from a dying friend. I had been standing, observing, no will to help and no strength to mourn. I, as always, had done nothing.

"No," Eridan said, tugging me out of my own thoughts and back to the great and terrible truth. "No, you can't kill him."

Karkat growled in despairing anger, looking off into the maze of streets in which the killer had escaped. In which he had allowed the killer to escape, pinning the blame on him. "I can find him. I can make him pay for what he did."

Eridan shook his head. He hadn't spoken a word, shed a tear or moved a muscle. His voice maintained it's solid tone, although Karkat's voice cracked and wavered with emotion. His sincerity anchored me to reality. Karkat could hear the hesitation in his own voice, and turned to Eridan for an explination, for help, for something.

"Forgive him," Eridan recited Kankri's dying wish, "He was talking about the officer. He wants you to forgive the officer that shot him."

Karkat stood, confused for a moment. Revenge or forgiveness. What would Kankri have wanted? The answer couldn't have been more obvious.

Karkat's eyes stung with salty tears. Julia had drifted to Sollux's side, and was clinging to the sleeve of jacket like a life raft. I shoved my hands in my pockets, staring at Kankri's bloody, lifeless body slumped over on the street. I had always made the assumption that the face of death was a peaceful one. But Kankri didn't look peaceful at all. He just looked... dead.

Eridan rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and bent down next to Kankri, taking the body into his arms. The tallest and strongest, it was his obligation to carry the body to a final resting place. With an exhausted grunt, Eridan rose to his feet, Kankri's body hanging wearily in his arms, blood rubbing off onto his skin.

"Let's get out of here," he reccommended.

Karkat nodded in silent approval, taking care to walk several paces in front of everyone else. Julia was, undoubtedly, unable to return to her previous engagement, and was clearly unable to detach herself from Sollux's arm. She glanced back at the bloodstains on the sidewalk with pain in her eyes.

Karkat diverted from the path home, and walked, instead, out to the fields. The fields were not useful for agriculture; the soil was too cold and soft. A ring of forest also border the fields, blocking most sunlight from the land. The fields could serve as a burial site for the dully departed.

I found myself strangely void of feeling on our silent procession. I had seen a man die. Not only seen, mind you, but I had consciously stood by and let it happen. Karkat and Julia mourned in the moment. I guiltily caught myself wondering if I would miss him at all.

If Karkat had been the one to die, no doubt I would have kissed him on his deathbed. No doubt I would have cried over his lifeless carcass and smeared myself with his blood. No doubt I would have been holding my breath on his every sentence. No doubt I would have cried over him. If Eridan had been the one to die, no doubt I would have been paralyzed. No doubt I would have to be dragged away from his body, kicking and screaming, in plain and simple denial. No doubt I wouldn't have lasted through a night without him. No doubt I would have taken a cold, rusty blade to my own wrists to follow him into the afterlife. Without a second thought.

I thought through these scenarios, my eyes glued to Kankri's dead body, his neck bent back at a terrifyingly lifeless angle and his hair sticky with his own blood. I did not cry for him. I could only look at him with a kind of blank terror and a kind of morbid curiosity. I had never really known him at all, had I? His life was a book I had never read, a story I had never been told.

Or maybe I had been told; I had only failed to listen.


End file.
